hearts and flowers
by Khayr
Summary: alternate title: five times ozpin kissed glynda and one time he didn't [5 plus 1 things]


**.. (1)**

The first time Ozpin even dares to think about it, the two of them are tucked away in the corner of his private library skimming through tomes far older than either of them are. A pot of coffee sits half empty between them, two mugs carefully placed side by side among ancient scripts and papers. Neither seems particularly worried that they'll spill their beverage across the documents despite the precarious nature of the situation.

Precarious was certainly right, that much he knew. For the past ten minutes he'd been absently staring at her mouth instead of working like he was supposed to be.

She hadn't noticed yet at least, or if she had she was allowing him the benefit of the doubt. He found his fingers had tightened like a vice around the papers in his hands and it took a slow, subtle exhale to settle himself enough to loosen up a little. What was the worst that could happen if he did it?

Well, she could certainly bring the entire library down on his head, for one.

The tells were there, though, he was certain of that much. In the sleepy hours before the day truly began she'd twine her fingers with his in the dim light of his office, the first cup of coffee split between them and a faint smile on her face while the sun rose over the distant harbor. Quiet, comfortable silence was a language they both spoke fluently.

After another minute of internal debate he resigns to the fact that one way or another, this is happening. It's well overdue. He leans forward, his forearms resting along his knees if only to steady the tiny bird fluttering away inside his chest cavity. "Glyn," he whispers her nickname but he's already going for it, his fingertips skimming the underside of her jaw and listening to the soft hitch in her breath at his sudden touch.

She allows him to do it, and that fact bleeds some of the tension from his shoulders as his lips brush hers in the briefest of gestures. It's feather-light and chaste- a question that he realizes he's been aching to know the answer to.

Her eyes close as she dips her forehead to bump against his- but a soft, relieved smile is on her face. Ozpin is convinced it lingers for the rest of the day.

 **.. (2)**

Sometimes when she's not paying attention, he tries to catch her by surprise.

It doesn't always work, but Ozpin quickly finds if he leans over the back of her desk chair and kisses the spot behind her ear that it often earns him the most delightful reaction as her fingertips graze the side of his face in response. She typically doesn't even look up from her work as she does it. When he's this close he can feel the heat radiating off of her, smell the shampoo lingering in her hair... hear the quiet sound of half-protest she makes when his lips meet her skin again. He often feels as if his heart might burst from the sheer adoration it holds and yet each stolen gesture only serves to fill it more.

One of these days he knows she'll cave and make the first move, but he is more than content to wait for it. Patience is a virtue that he possesses in abundance, especially when she's involved.

In dreary, pre-dawn hours sometimes she murmurs strings of poetry he's never heard before.

 **.. (3)**

This hardly feels appropriately reverent, but when has he ever been? The entire evening has been a dance of lingering touches and smouldering looks across the room and now, _now_ he has her exactly where he wants her and there's not a soul that's going to lift the administrator's override he's placed on his office elevator. Qrow's gone, Ironwood's gone, and Glynda has allowed him to pin her against his desk in the dimmed light of the room. She has her hands in his hair and _pulls_ as his tongue swipes a path over what he can reach of her collarbone, scalding hot and full of promise. A soft whimper escapes his throat.

Ozpin's more than certain that when he sits here tomorrow morning he won't be able to think of anything else but this. His palms skim her thighs after she perches on the edge of the desk, tugging him closer as if any distance at all between them is too far right now. Everything falls into place when he kisses the hollow of her throat, her neck, her jawline, anything at all he can reach while she pulls his scarf off and slides her hands inside his jacket. Heat pools in the pit of his stomach and there is no way they're going to walk all the way back to his place right now.

Whatever other thoughts he had slip away like smoke rings when her tongue slides into his mouth.

 **.. (4)**

There is something incredibly unsettling about the scent of antiseptic in his nose and the rhythmic sound of medical equipment in the background. No matter how many years go by Ozpin is fairly certain that he'll never get used to it. The room is bright and sunny but somehow he still can't shake the chill at his back.

She's fine, of course, now that her aura has had time to recharge and her body given the energy to mostly mend itself. He doesn't want to wake her- he doesn't- but the guilt he feels weighs heavily on him even though her face is no longer creased in pain. Another mistake to add to his list of many, another bad call that turned into a hornet's nest of problems neither of them had anticipated. His eyes linger at the smattering of gauze and medical tape covering her shoulder, hands clenched into fists against the infirmary cot.

If he keeps reminding himself she's all right, maybe eventually he'll forgive himself. He's already fended off Ironwood's harsh accusations with measured disconnect; how could that man even begin to fathom what weighs at his mind? The general is picking a fight he will not win and Ozpin would gladly wipe the floor with him for insinuating the things he has in the last twenty-four hours. There's no way for him to describe the pain in his heart in absolutes, and Ironwood only understands the world as black and white.

He quietly gathers her hand into his instead, his lips brushing over her bruised knuckles.

She's fine.

She's fine.

She's fine.

If he repeats it like a mantra perhaps she, too, will forgive him for this.

 **.. (5)**

Sometimes he wakes in the early hours just before dawn, his limbs tangled with hers in a mess of sheets and blankets. The moment he shifts he feels her wake beside him, years of training and hunter's instincts hardwired into her even in the comfort of their own bed. He whispers her name into the dark, hands gently smoothing over her hip, her shoulder, whatever he can reach until she relaxes into him with a soft sigh. More than anything he wants to pull her even closer but if there's anything he's learned over the years it's that Glynda does best waking on her own terms and no one else's.

He waits.

It never does takes long before her fingers trace up his collarbone, his throat, the curve of his jaw… as if she's just reminding herself that she already knows every inch of him. When her fingertips rest against his lips he kisses them, and then her palm too when she presses it to his cheek. There are no words between them, only silent understanding that they've built together like storm walls in seaside towns.

She hums quietly into the darkness of the room after a few minutes and Ozpin shifts towards her, his fingers tilting her chin enough to press his mouth to hers. It's unhurried, his free hand lazily wound into her loose hair. When her fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt he remembers his cue, his tongue flicking against her lower lip before she allows him to deepen the kiss further. It's languid, drowsy... not going anywhere tonight, but right now it's _home_. They're here- alive and together- and the sun will begin to creep over the horizon in the next hour or two like it does every morning.

The details hardly matter anymore, not when his heart's been beating in her hands for the better part of a decade.

 **.. (+1)**

"Happy New Year."

She doesn't reply right away; she's staring out across the harbor in the distance. From his office they can see everything on most days, but tonight it's snowing and quiet even with the parties being thrown down in the dorms. Visibility is next to nothing even from where they've pulled up a pair of chairs to the window. Every year goes about the same way- more or less- occasionally there are more people, but this time it's just the two of them and neither really minds.

"Yeah," she replies at length, draining the rest of the wine bottle into her glass, "Hopefully this one stays as peaceful as the last."

"Mm." Ozpin takes the empty bottle in his hands, reading the label over. An old vintage from their private collection. His favorite, as it were; she had selected it for their evening together without even needing to ask. When he lifts his gaze to her again she's finished the glass and is staring back at him, a determined gleam in her eye.

Glynda leans over the short gap between them and presses a firm, lingering kiss against his cheek. It's probably the wine doing most of the work if he's being honest, but he's a little drunk too and can't bring himself to think too hard on it right now. His eyes crinkle in amusement as she murmurs quiet words of affection in his ear.

When he turns to face her, she bumps her forehead to his.


End file.
